To Wish Upon a Star--A Vision of the Path Before Him
by LizzieF
Summary: Elizabeth and the Gardiners take their intended trip to the Lake District, no longer meeting Darcy at Pemberley. With the help of Wickham, events spiral out of control, leaving Darcy destitute of love for the rest of his life—until fate intervenes. What will Darcy do with his 2nd chance? E&D HEA. PREVIEW ONLY. Available on Amazon as "A Vision of the Path Before Him."
1. Chapter 1

This story is now available on Amazon under its new title "A Vision of the Path Before Him."

Thanks to my wonderful betas, Melliot, SunriseImagination, and stmcg14, who took this story up a level :) And to all of you who encouraged and critiqued and engaged with my story along the way!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Frerichs

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"I beg your pardon?" Darcy asked, his gaze trained on Bingley's haggard face. He had expected Bingley to remain in Hertfordshire for quite some time as his friend reacquainted himself with his property Netherfield Park (and the neighbours—particularly Miss Bennet). Bingley had determined to visit Netherfield one last time before deciding whether to retain the property before the initial year-long lease expired three weeks from now. Indeed, Darcy had intended to join him in Hertfordshire as soon as he concluded his business in London this week. Now, his friend had burst through the doors of Darcy's study, barely waiting to be announced, and poured himself a glass of brandy before throwing himself into the leather chair to one side of Darcy's desk.

Bingley looked at him, eyes shadowed with grief. "Miss Jane Bennet is married to one of her uncle's clerks."

"Good God! I did not think I could have heard you aright. How?"

"Necessity." Bingley gulped down another finger of brandy. "Mr. Collins told me—"

"Mr. Collins is there? Why?"

"I'm trying to tell you," Bingley snapped. "Miss Lydia ran away with Wickham over the summer."

Darcy blanched. "Wickham?" he asked in a strangled croak.

Bingley glared at him. "You said the man was a blackguard, but if I had known he was so bad, I would not have left the Bennets unprotected."

Darcy sank back into his chair. The "and neither should have you" rang through Bingley's tone. "I—I don't know what to say, Bingley. You are right—I did not think him capable of leg shackling himself to someone without monetary inducement, but to leave him there was—" He swallowed as the realities of his error spread through his veins. Whatever Wickham had done to the unprotected people of Meryton was his fault. He had left a wolf in their midst with nary a warning. "Unconscionable," he whispered. "What of the rest of her family?" What of Elizabeth?

Bingley's jaw tightened. "Mr. Bennet followed Miss Lydia and Wickham to London but could not find them. According to Wickham's friends, he had no intention of marrying the girl, and she was never found. Eventually, Mr. Bennet returned home and, shortly afterwards, died of an apoplexy." He poured another finger of brandy and swirled it in his tumbler. "Mrs. Bennet remains in Meryton with her sister, Mrs. Philips—though she is no longer received by polite society, including the Collinses who are now at Longbourn. Mr. Collins informed me he had graciously given the Bennets a month to vacate the premises after Mr. Bennet's death." The chair creaked as his fingers tightened around the arm. "He sympathises with their plight but 'a man of the cloth cannot appear to condone such scurrilous behaviour as Miss Lydia's, nor to support any tainted by it,' " he quoted bitterly. "My—Miss—Mrs. Hawkins had no choice but to marry at once. The clerk has a steady source of income."

Darcy leaned forward. "But what of Miss Elizabeth?"

Bingley stared into his glass. "She was sent to her relatives in London along with Miss Mary—"

Darcy started. "She is in London?" He stood and strode to the window as though to discover her whereabouts.

Bingley shook his head sorrowfully. He returned to the table where Darcy's crystal decanters sat and poured two fingers of brandy into another glass. "A carriage accident," he said, holding the glass out to Darcy.

Darcy took it mechanically. "A carriage accident?"

Bingley nodded, still not meeting Darcy's gaze. "The carriage overturned on the way to London. Miss Mary survived, but Miss Elizabeth's injuries were too grievous."

The glass slipped from Darcy's fingers, brandy spilling across the floor, staining it dark much as Elizabeth's blood must have stained the dirt. Travelling as often as he did, Darcy had assisted at more than one carriage accident. The sight was never pretty: men and women impaled with fragments of wood or crushed under horses, thrown from the carriage with bones broken and jutting out from their skin. Insides becoming outsides. Man was never created to be so intimately viewed.

Cold filled him, bypassing grief, as he imagined Elizabeth's broken body, his beloved dying alone. On trembling legs, he returned to his desk and slumped in a chair, cradling his head in his hands.

"Darcy! Are you—are you all right? I never—you don't like the Bennets!"

Darcy sucked in a breath past the agony in his chest. "I love—loved her."

Bingley flopped into his chair. "Damn. My apologies, Darcy. If I had known . . . . I shouldn't have broken the news like that."

They sat in silence for some moments, both trying to absorb their loss. United in love for a Bennet sister they now sat in the ruins of their might-have-beens. Ever since she had rejected him, Darcy had struggled to relinquish the prospect of winning Elizabeth's love; becoming a man worthy of her had given him something to strive for. He had hoped that the return of her sister's suitor would ease Elizabeth's ire into something softer and that his close proximity would allow him to convince her that he had taken her rebuke to heart. And now . . . .

His breath remained as shaky as his limbs. Wickham's trail of destruction had consumed the woman he loved. If only he had done something about Wickham when the blackguard had crossed his path.

He loved his sister Georgiana and wouldn't trade her happiness for Elizabeth's, yet there must have been something he could have done to warn everyone. Or perhaps he should have had Wickham arrested and put in debtor's prison? Or perhaps his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam could have alerted Wickham's colonel? But he'd been too proud to ask for advice, too worried for Georgiana's future to let any breath of scandal touch her reputation. Ridiculous—especially since those who would be put off by any mention of such a scandal would be the sort of men that should be avoided. He would prefer Georgiana join a cloister rather than marry one of them. His darling sister ought to marry someone who loved her for who she was.

Elizabeth had shown him the value of being weighed according to one's character. She had rejected him for who he was rather than the position he held, and it was a gift he would never forget.

Bingley buried his face in his hands. "I never should have left her," he whispered.

Darcy cleared his throat several times, trying to force words of comfort past the grief threatening to strangle him. "You didn't know, Bingley."

"I have seen the women of the ton for several years. I knew Miss Bennet—Mrs. Hawkins was a jewel beyond compare. I should have returned and tried to win her affection."

Darcy hesitated. He owed Bingley an apology for separating him from Miss Bennet. One he had intended to give after they had both returned to Netherfield. But now?

What would Elizabeth have wished him to do? For some months now, it was the question he measured everything in his life by. He squared his shoulders, anticipating the loss of his dearest friend on top of the woman he loved. It was too much, but he would pay his penance. The least he could do for Elizabeth now was to live as she would have wanted him to.

"I owe you an apology, Bingley," Darcy began. "While at Rosings in April, I encountered Miss Elizabeth and she shared with me that Miss Bennet did indeed have feelings for you."

Bingley stared at him, fingers sliding from his face and gripping the desk. "What did you say?"

"You had Miss Bennet's affections," Darcy said quietly. "And I am exceedingly sorry for the part I played in preventing you from returning to her."

Bingley froze. "Preventing me from returning?" he croaked.

Darcy gave a short nod. "At the time, I believed Miss Bennet did not hold you in affection but would be forced by her mother to accept your advantageous offer. I worried you would be responsible for supporting the entire family after Mr. Bennet's death; nor did I desire you to suffer social degradation as a result of their poor behaviour."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

Darcy shuddered. "I—I was proud. Miss Elizabeth showed me the error of my ways. I believed I knew what was best for you instead of allowing you to be your own man."

Bingley looked as though someone had kicked his favourite hound, however, anger was rapidly overtaking his shock. "Darcy, I have allowed you to advise me because you are more experienced in certain matters—you had no right to make that decision for me. I thought we were friends."

"We are."

Bingley jerked his head in denial. "No friend would do what you've done." He stood and went to the window. "How did Miss Elizabeth show you the error of your ways?"

Darcy hesitated, but he owed it to Bingley to be honest. "I proposed to her in April, and she rejected me soundly, enumerating the many reasons she considered me the last man she would ever marry—one of which was my interference in her sister's dealings with you."

"She knew?"

"My cousin informed her unknowingly." And hadn't that been a shock. Darcy hadn't known they were speaking of him. Fitzwilliam had admitted he was trying to change Elizabeth's poor opinion of him. How had everyone around him seen Elizabeth's antagonism towards him when he had only ever seen flirtation in her wit and their debates?

"Good," Bingley said savagely.

"I am sorry, Bingley," Darcy repeated. "It was unconscionable and arrogant of me to interfere in your life or in anyone else's. I have tried to change my dealings with you and with others in the wake of Elizabeth's rebuke."

Bingley's eyes widened as he turned towards Darcy. "You really do love her."

"Very much."

"I've never seen you change your opinion once made—I had wondered why your behaviour had recently changed." His eyes took on a faraway cast. "You became more aloof with Caroline and more involved with your estate."

"I realised I had been cruel to Miss Bingley by not making my disinterest plain. I had never indicated a preference for her—"

"As I have told her many times," Bingley cut in.

"But by my silence, I allowed her to continue her pursuit of me and condoned her treatment of others. My failings in this and so many other areas have led us to where we are today."

Bingley returned to the brandy and poured himself another glass. "We are all responsible for our own faults, are we not?" He stared into his glass, swirling the liquor around and around. "I could have returned to Netherfield sooner. I didn't have to listen to you. I could have pursued Miss Bennet, but I did not. It is as you have always said: I am too willing to bend to the opinions of others." He tossed back the brandy, then gave a bitter laugh. "I just didn't realise you were warning me against yourself."

"I have—Bingley, you are not—" Darcy closed his mouth, trying to gather his scattered thoughts into some kind of order, swimming against the tide of grief that longed to think only of Elizabeth: her face, the arch of her eyebrow, the swell of her lips, the wisps of curls that sprang free in the wind, the way her eyes sparkled. He clenched his teeth and reminded himself to deal with Bingley first or he would risk losing his friend. "You have the ability to be at ease no matter the social situation you find yourself in. Your friendliness and the way you see good in everything makes the world a better place. It is an ability I envy. Perhaps this may appear to some as lacking backbone, but it does not have to be so. In truth, you are your own man. You have proven that these past weeks by returning to Netherfield against your sisters' advice."

Bingley sighed heavily. "Too late."

Darcy shuddered as his own culpability hit him once more. Too late for Bingley, and too late to win Elizabeth. Too late for Elizabeth's life. Too late to rescue her or to save her family even though he owed her a debt that could not be paid. If only he had done things differently.

The two of them remained in Darcy's study late into the night, both silently pacing and drinking and staring out of the windows alternately. Darcy's thoughts vacillated between memories of Elizabeth and horror at the part he had inadvertently played in her death.

The stars came out—an oddity in London made possible due to that morning's rain. In the past, they had comforted him—a reminder that Elizabeth too was under the same stars. Tonight, they seemed hollow, a reminder of how very alone he was and how helpless he was to change anything. He stared unseeing as a shooting star flamed across the sky. If only he had behaved differently. He had spent days under the same roof as Elizabeth and had only managed to convince her of his pride and unsuitability. If he had been a better man then, he could have ensured that Wickham would not have been free to prey on Elizabeth's younger sister.

If only he could have saved Elizabeth.


	2. Chapter 2

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Frerichs

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China clinked, and the scent of hot coffee wafted past the bed curtains. Darcy suppressed a groan as pain throbbed in his temples. He sat up, cradling his head in his hands. He and Bingley had remained in the study long past his normal bedtime. Indeed, neither of them had eaten during their vigil which was probably why his head ached.

Darcy stared at the curtains. How could he go on knowing Elizabeth was dead? Though descending into drink and despair would not honor her memory, he did not know how to move on. He could not imagine loving any other woman. The women of the ton paled beside her wit, wisdom, and beauty. They were like porcelain dolls—beautiful and boringly uniform. Georgiana's children would inherit Pemberley, because he would die before finding Elizabeth's equal.

And what about Bingley? His fuzzy thoughts revolved around their conversation, trying to puzzle it out into some kind of order. An uneasy truce sat between them. His friend had admitted the fault lay with both of them, but he had not offered Darcy forgiveness, and Darcy was loathe to press him in the midst of their shared sorrow.

The soft voice of his valet speaking to a maid was followed by a door closing. Penn pulled the bed curtains apart and held out a dressing gown. "Good morning, sir. It is seven o'clock, and the weather looks to be fine for riding."

Darcy frowned. Riding? In London? His eyes travelled around the room and back to his bed. Lost in thought, he had not noticed, but this was not his bed nor his room. The gaudy gold brocades belonged to Netherfield Park, not Darcy House. He stood, moving to study the scene outside his window. The sun shone on trees who had begun to don their autumn finery.

"Mr. Darcy?" Penn called.

Darcy blinked back at him.

"You wished to go riding this morning before the Bingleys and Hursts arose. Shall I prepare your breeches?"

The words swirled in his ears, their meaning sluggish to reach his brain. Bingley had gone alone to Netherfield, his sisters loathe to leave town. But that did not explain how he had gotten to Netherfield. Indeed, it was the last place he desired to be. Seeing a broken Jane Bennet, or whatever Bingley had said her married name was, would only press the agony of Elizabeth's absence deeper into his aching heart. Bingley had vowed to sell Netherfield, unable to stand the thought of seeing his angel again. But how . . . . ?

He dragged his eyes away from the window. "Penn, why are we here?"

Penn's brow furrowed. "Sir?"

"Why have we come to Netherfield?"

Penn lowered the dressing gown. "I believe you planned to assist Mr. Bingley in deciding whether to retain Netherfield."

"Last night, he said he intended to relinquish the lease," Darcy said, retrieving the dressing gown and fastening it.

"Perhaps your visit will be of short duration then," Penn said slowly.

Darcy shook his head, his muddled thoughts refusing to make sense. He moved to the coffee-laden table. Perhaps coffee would clear his alcohol-induced fog.

Penn cleared his throat.

Darcy looked up expectantly.

"While visiting last night, Miss Bennet took ill."

"Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked, his spoon clanging against his saucer. Why was the middle daughter visiting?

"Miss Jane Bennet. She is the eldest daughter of the Bennet family," Penn said woodenly.

Darcy stared at him. Jane Bennet? Here? "Why was she visiting? Has something else occurred?"

Penn gave him a curious look. "Something else, sir? To my knowledge, she was visiting Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst."

Darcy's eyes widened. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were in residence and had deigned to see Miss Bennet—that did not harmonise with the exalted status they held in their own minds, nor their lack of compassion. "They are in residence?"

"Mr. Darcy, are you quite sure you are all right?" Penn's fingers twitched as though about to test Darcy's brow for fever—the hazards of having a manservant who had been with Darcy for more than a decade. "Perhaps you have caught the same illness as Miss Bennet. Talk below stairs is that her fever has climbed."

Darcy shook his head. "I am well."

"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst arrived at the same time you did, sir."

How was that possible? He had been at Darcy House the night before and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had apparently been here—yet they had arrived at the same time? Had he somehow lost days? His headache throbbed. If he was not suffering from the aftereffects of a night of drinking, perhaps he had been ill?

He glanced around the room, trying to note something that would anchor him to the date, but nothing was forthcoming. Nor would he have access to a newspaper until after breakfast.

Darcy turned back to Penn. "What day is it?"

"November 13th, sir." he replied, his voice full of concern.

Darcy turned back to the window. Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Bingley had arrived in London with news of the Bennets. But why had he returned to Netherfield? It seemed the last place either of them would wish to be—it was a question only Bingley could answer. And how had he forgotten the last six weeks? Perhaps a ride would be just the thing to clear his mind. "I believe I will go for a ride this morning."

"Are you certain you are well?" Penn asked.

The concern was both unusual in a valet and impertinent—yet valet and master had been together for so long that Penn was entirely justified in such a query. Darcy still remembered when the young man had become his valet shortly before George Darcy's death. Both had lost their fathers and, in Penn, Darcy had found a staunch supporter and, in many ways, an aide-de-camp. Penn accompanied Darcy into every household he visited and provided assistance with whatever muddle Darcy found himself in.

Darcy nodded. "I am fit, merely a bit disoriented this morning. A good ride is just what I need to brush the cobwebs from my sleep-befuddled mind."

"Very well, sir." Penn moved to the wardrobe and began arranging Darcy's riding breeches on one of the chairs.

Darcy fixed his coffee and moved to the window. Dew sparkled below like the facets of a diamond. The day was indeed fine weather for riding. Hopefully, a ride would be just the thing to sort him out.

Astride Apollo, Darcy urged his steed into a steady canter, directing him onto pathways that led towards Longbourn. He had no desire to see Collins, nor to reach the buildings. A Longbourn without Elizabeth was no Longbourn. But he could not stay away. He had to ride these pathways, paths she might have walked. It was the closest he could get to her.

A flash of yellow caught his eye. Through the trees he could make out a woman striding towards him. He urged Apollo to his left, moving into a copse of trees, hoping to get out of sight.

The woman came into view. Dark wisps had escaped her chignon, and her cheeks glowed from exertion. Sturdy walking boots completed the picture of a country maid.

Darcy's chest ached. This woman reminded him of Elizabeth, tramping her way from Longbourn to Netherfield. Apollo whinnied, and the woman halted. She glanced towards the trees Darcy hid behind.

"I see you, sir," the woman said. "You are trespassing. I suggest you leave this area at once."

Darcy dismounted and led Apollo forward. "Good morning—" his breath caught in his throat. She was the image of Elizabeth.

"Mr. Darcy!" the woman exclaimed. "I did not think to meet you this morning."

Darcy remained dumb, his eyes tracing her features.

"I am coming to Netherfield to inquire after my sister Jane. Perhaps you have heard news of her condition?"

Darcy's limbs shook. "Elizabeth?" he whispered.

The woman arched an eyebrow. "I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, sir."

Darcy took a shaky breath. "Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth," he murmured automatically. What manner of spectre was this?

Elizabeth nodded. "Have you news of my sister?"

Darcy hesitated, then gave a short nod. This—ghost believed Miss Bennet was at Netherfield, and he could not bear to dispel the illusion. Even if they only talked of commonplaces until she disappeared into the netherworld, he would cherish the moment. "My valet informed me she is ill with a cold."

"So said Jane's note." Elizabeth sighed, then gave him a polite smile. "I will continue to Netherfield to see her for myself."

"I would expect no less of you," Darcy said, his lips quirked up. "I was about to turn around," he fibbed. "May I accompany you?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips, looking past Darcy to his steed. "And lead your horse?"

Ignoring her hint, Darcy patted Apollo affectionately. "He will be quite content to follow us." Darcy dropped the reins. "Apollo, heel." Daringly, he held out an arm for Elizabeth.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth took it.

Darcy suppressed a start as her fingers rested on his arm. Pressure. Warmth. This was no phantom—at least not of any sort he had heard of. He walked forward, Elizabeth's scent filling his senses, leaving him almost giddy. Recalling her instructions at Rosings to practice small talk, he cast about for a topic of conversation, preferably one that would provide information. "Have you been to London recently?"

Elizabeth shot him a puzzled look. "No, not since January."

Darcy suppressed a frown. Not since January. Had this—whatever she was—forgotten the trip that had resulted in her death? "And how is the rest of your family?"

"Well," Elizabeth said.

Darcy missed her witty banter. He was tempted to bait her just to see her reaction. But no, the sharp-edged banter had been evidence of dislike. And her short answers indicated discomfort. She had clearly preferred to walk on her own, but he could not acquiesce to her wishes—not when it meant leaving her. "I was sorry to hear of your sister's illness. Being sick in someone else's house is never comfortable."

Elizabeth's gaze whipped towards his face as though shocked. She studied him, measuring his sincerity. "Have you much experience with such circumstances?"

"Only a little." Darcy hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I rarely stay at someone else's home. Though I have begun to work on being more approachable, I have few friends. It is difficult to tell whether someone is desirous of a friendship or a connection to the Darcy name."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Are so many people fawning over you? I would have thought your—aloofness would shield you against such interlopers."

Darcy's lips quirked up. Direct as always, yet so sweetly done that he could not take offense—he doubted anyone could. "Perhaps among honest country folk. In the ton, however, amiability is not a necessary virtue in one who may raise your status."

"Honest country folk?" Elizabeth repeated. "I had thought you a town gentleman at heart."

"I am a gentleman farmer at heart, as attached to my land as you are, no doubt, to yours."

"Mr. Darcy, I find your character difficult to sketch. Such a response seems out of character for you."

Darcy smiled. "Perhaps you have not had the requisite time to sketch my character."

"Perhaps. One might argue that a month, after all, is not so very long," Elizabeth reasoned.

Darcy's chest clenched. A month? This Elizabeth had never received his proposal. Nor had she been to Netherfield. He started. Of course! This Elizabeth believed the Miss Jane Bennet sick at Netherfield was the same who had been sick the first time. Had Miss Bennet's—or whatever her married name was—arrival triggered some phantom to attempt the part of Elizabeth, thus repeating events as they had occurred?

"You disagree?" Elizabeth asked.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Not at all. One may begin a rough study of another's character from the moment they meet, however, to complete a more accurate representation requires a length of time. Do you enjoy character study then?"

"It is something of a hobby. People change so much that there is always something to observe."

"Rather like watching crops grow," Darcy agreed. "I never tire of riding my fields in the spring when every day brings some new change."

Elizabeth shot him another puzzled look. "Do you often ride through your fields?"

"One must—to see what problems need addressed."

"Does not your steward inform you of difficulties?"

"He does, however, I like to see with my own eyes. We all have our particular interests and sensitivities. One of my hobbies is innovation. I cannot know what may benefit from change if I am not intimately familiar with the land. Familiarity with my land allows me to immediately notice pertinent information."

Elizabeth remained silent, and Darcy gave her space as he tried to decipher what was occurring. Penn had informed him of Miss Bennet's illness. Now that he considered the matter, he did not understand. If Jane Bennet were married to her uncle's clerk, Penn would not have used her maiden name. Furthermore, the matter of where he had been last night remained unresolved. When Miss Bennet had been sick at Netherfield the first time, he, Bingley, and Hurst had dined with the officers. The facts remained clear in his memory—largely due to Bingley's complaints about how his sisters had invited Miss Bennet to dine with them when they knew he would not be present.

Miss Bingley, however, would never throw her brother together with Miss Bennet, regardless of any protestations of fondness on her part. The woman was determined to gain permanent entrance to the first circles of the ton—something Miss Bennet could not help her with.

Though he was aware of Miss Bingley's position, Darcy had suggested to his friend that Bingley's sisters might wish to get to know Miss Bennet free of Bingley's influence.

And now Elizabeth claimed they had known each other for but a month, rather than the year he had known her. Though he hadn't seen her since Easter, they had met in October at the assembly. Well, he hadn't met her—he had seen her. And been abominably rude. He had never apologised for that insult. Only later had it occurred to him that she might have heard him, a fact that left him flushed with embarrassment. He ought to have been a gentleman. Elizabeth had been so right to call him to task for his pride and selfish disdain.

He would never have the opportunity to apologise now. He glanced down at Elizabeth, her face a study in concentration. If only she were his Elizabeth. If only she were more than a pale shadow of a memory, more than the phantom she must be. He tightened his arm, drawing her closer to himself. Not polite, but oh how he longed to continue holding this woman to him. Would she vanish when they reached Netherfield? Or would the phantom remain until Jane Bennet healed?

How much time did he have? Hours? Days? Or only seconds?

Apollo nickered as Darcy slowed.

Elizabeth glanced up at him. "Are you well, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy forced a smile, a hundred answers racing through his brain. He was in agony and ecstasy. The woman he loved was at his side and dead. Exquisite pain filled every moment as his senses swam with her presence. Though she was here, he would lose her all over again. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Just a touch tired. Mr. Bingley and I were up rather late."

Elizabeth nodded as though unsurprised, and Darcy forced himself to continue his previous pace. His heartbeats counted out the moments until she would vanish, much like the beats counted down the moments of his life. Years, days, did it matter? Perhaps he was as good as dead without her alive?

Georgiana's face flashed through his mind. No, she needed him, as did many others under his care. He would remain steadfast. Now was not the moment to wallow in loss, not when he could be storing up memories. Darcy stole glances at Elizabeth, noting the way her hair shone in the sun and the few freckles that sprinkled her nose and cheeks, evidence of her time outside.

The frown of concentration did not leave her face as they walked in silence.

Apollo pushed forward, nuzzling at Darcy's back as though he had hidden sugar cubes there. Darcy stumbled and caught himself. "Apollo!" he admonished.

Elizabeth giggled. "May I ask why 'Apollo'?"

"Because he is the light of my life?" Darcy suggested with a hidden smile.

Elizabeth stared at him.

Darcy chuckled. "Georgiana, my fifteen-year-old sister, was reading the classics. I allowed her to name our newly borne foal, and, as he had been born at dawn and"—Darcy indicated a splotch of white on Apollo's left shoulder—"she thought this similar to a musical note, she chose the name 'Apollo.' "

Elizabeth eyed the splotch dubiously.

"Yes. I do not see it either, but she insisted Apollo had been marked from birth with light and music."

"I suppose that is an appropriate name for such a horse."

"So I am told."

As they approached the rear of the stables, the scents of horses wafted towards them. Elizabeth tugged her hand free, ensuring a decorous distance between Darcy and her.

"Mr. Darcy!" a groom said, dropping a shovel to touch his hat.

Darcy sent him a small smile. The staff here knew he was apt to run with Apollo until it was almost too late to eat breakfast. Returning so quickly was quite out of the ordinary.

The groom turned and saw Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth," he said, touching his hat.

Darcy started. He had not expected anyone but him to see Elizabeth. He would never have tried to rid himself of such a hallucination, but he had expected that she would not be real to anyone but him.

"Tommy," she said with a smile. "How is Annika? I haven't been to see your mother the past few days."

"She's all right, ma'am. My mum let her go outside yesterday mornin'." He glanced up at the sky. "Looks to be fair today so she'll prob'ly be up and about."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Tommy took Apollo from Darcy.

"Thank you, Tommy," Darcy said. He had always treated his servants well, but after attending to Elizabeth's reproofs, he began to use the small courtesies even with those outside his employ. They were, after all, people too. And everyone worked harder when they were noticed and appreciated.

Darcy noted another sideways glance from Elizabeth.

"Shall we?" Mr. Darcy said, gesturing towards the house.

"As it is so early, I believe I will speak to Mrs. Winters, the housekeeper, first," Elizabeth said.

Darcy glanced up at the sun. "Breakfast shall be served soon—the Bingleys and Hursts will be available shortly."

Elizabeth nodded. "It would be rude to demand their presence without ascertaining their availability first." She gave a small sigh. "I had not intended to arrive so early."

Darcy's chest twinged. She had rushed her walk in order to escape his presence. A hundred details had testified to her dislike yet he had been oblivious, so convinced of his worth as a potential suitor that he had implied flirtation where there had only been animosity.

They walked up to the house, Elizabeth aiming towards the servants' entrance. Darcy hesitated but followed her. He had never entered through the servants' door at Netherfield; however, he could not bear to leave Elizabeth yet—not until the last possible moment.

Elizabeth seemed familiar with the house, her strong steps striding without pause. How did she know it so well? Had previous occupants been companions of hers?

"Has Tommy been a stable boy here for long?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth turned wide eyes on him. "I am certain he is doing an exemplary job."

Darcy nodded. "He has done so for me. I was merely curious how you knew him."

"Fraternising with the servants," Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

What must she think of him if she believed he cared so little about servants? It was she who had taught him that all people were valuable—all different, all unique with unique stories and concerns. The world had become a much larger place once he heeded her suggestion to practice, once he became a man who tried to put others at ease rather than standing back and demanding to be pleased.

"Pardon?" Darcy asked, certain he wasn't supposed to have heard her comment.

"His mother is one of our tenants," Elizabeth said clearly.

"I see." So Elizabeth visited the tenants. How had he dismissed her as being unworthy to be mistress of Pemberley? She was eminently capable of the duties and responsibilities of the position, despite the larger scale of Pemberley. Beyond that, she was the love of his life.

Upon reaching the servants' entrance, Elizabeth knocked and one of the maids let her in. Elizabeth bestowed a bright smile on her, asking how the girl's mother was and admitting she had come to see her sister, but thought she ought to pay her respects to the Bingleys first and so wished to speak with Mrs. Winters. The girl bustled off, while Darcy stood awkwardly, attempting to keep the blush from his cheeks. Servants gawked at him as though his presence were a greater marvel than an airship. Perhaps it was.

Darcy cleared his throat. "I shall take my leave," he said to Elizabeth, unwilling to leave this apparition, but knowing he ought to change into proper breakfast clothing. If he hurried, he might arrive in the breakfast-parlour at the same time as Elizabeth—if the ghost remained or the dream continued, whatever the source of Elizabeth's presence. He bowed over her hand. "Thank you for your company this morning. I enjoyed our conversation and hope you find your sister in better health."

Elizabeth nodded.

Tearing his eyes from her face, Darcy strode off towards his rooms, trying to recall why he had decided to leave. Strands of longing clung to him, tying him to where Elizabeth stood, and it was only with the greatest of effort that he left her.


	3. Chapter 3

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Frerichs

* * *

In his room, Darcy found Penn standing at attention. Despite Darcy's precipitous return, his valet was, as usual, prepared.

"Hot water is on the way, sir, and I have laid out clothes for breakfast."

"Thank you, Penn," Darcy said. He lowered himself into a chair as though any chance wild movement might disturb the beautiful phantasmic reality he currently occupied and allowed Penn to remove his boots and help him with his coat. "Is there news regarding Miss Bennet's health?"

"No, sir. Mr. Bingley spoke of sending to London for a doctor but was persuaded to wait for the young lady's parents' opinion."

Darcy suppressed a snort. Of course Bingley wanted to send for a doctor from London over a cold—although, perhaps it was serious. "Has she shown additional symptoms?"

Penn shook his head. "No, she is believed to have caught a chill. The young lady was—caught in the rain on her way to visit Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst."

"Caught in the rain?" Darcy asked slowly.

"She rode a horse here."

Darcy frowned. Miss Bennet had been ill last fall for the same reason. One might have thought she would have learned better. Or perhaps she had, and this was the result: she knew she could trespass on the Bingley's hospitality under certain circumstances. Certainly Bingley was unable to say "no" to her—just as he would not test himself against Elizabeth.

He grimaced, realising he had once more jumped to believing ill of Elizabeth's favourite sister. Had he learned nothing? He would wait for more information before condemning Jane Bennet, even in his thoughts.

A knock sounded at the door, and a manservant carried in two buckets of steaming water. Penn directed him to the basin behind the screen.

After the servant left, Darcy stood in the basin and soaped himself. Where had he been the past six weeks? Why had Bingley returned to Netherfield, and why in God's name had he accompanied Bingley? He couldn't have known of Elizabeth's spectre's appearance. Only in fairy tales did anyone expect magic such as he had witnessed this morning.

Darcy completed his ablutions and dried himself. "What have you heard of the Bennet girls?"

"The servants are very protective of them. Many will not let a cross word be heard about the elder Misses Bennet. The younger Bennets are less respected."

"As it should be," Darcy murmured. Guilt smote him. Their father had not protected the youngest Bennets nor taught them proper behaviour. Without protection, without his protection from Wickham, the youngest had fallen into the same trap Georgiana only narrowly escaped.

Penn began to assist Darcy into his clothing. "The elder Misses Bennet have visited Netherfield's tenants—"

Elizabeth's charity once again put him to shame. He had looked to his own estate, his own concerns, with no view towards helping his neighbour, and Wickham had taken advantage.

"What of the youngest Bennet daughter?" Was her name whispered about still or had the scandal blown over in all but the minds of the most stringent, such as Mr. Collins?

"I have heard she is very—spirited," Penn said delicately.

"What of the Collinses and Longbourn?" Darcy asked. He had every intention of avoiding Mr. Collins lest his rage with the man's lack of charity and overwhelming self-importance cause him to lose his temper with physical results.

"The Collinses, sir?" Penn asked. "I have not heard of any such name connected with Longbourn. I have learned that the estate is entailed on a distant relative, but, as it is unlikely he will inherit any time soon, no one appears to know his name."

"A Mr. Collins," Darcy said with a frown. Surely the Collinses had taken their place in society? Bingley would know. In the meantime, he intended to avoid Longbourn assiduously. "Are the Bingleys awake?"

"Yes, sir. The servants have been instructed to serve breakfast in 10 minutes."

"Very well. I shall join them for breakfast."

Penn nodded and began to tie Darcy's cravat.

Darcy hesitated outside the door to the breakfast-parlour. Elizabeth's voice floated out along with Bingley's enthusiastic tones.

"—most kind, Mr. Bingley."

"It is not a kindness to aid a friend in need, Miss Elizabeth—but a joy. Though the circumstances are not ideal, it is my pleasure to offer hospitality to your sister. And to you. Are you certain you would not like me to send to London for a doctor?"

"I will wait until I see Jane to ascertain whether that will be needed. I do not think it necessary at this time, however."

"Certainly. If you change your mind, I can send a rider at a moment's notice!" Bingley said earnestly.

"Thank you again, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth replied, a smile suffusing her voice. "Now, may I be shown to my sister?"

"Of course."

Darcy took a hasty step back, shifting so as not to appear to have been eavesdropping. After all, it was strategic listening, not eavesdropping—something he had gotten into the habit of doing from a very young age. If he was about to enter a den of lions, he wished to know prior to entering the room. Such justifications did not keep the heat from his face, however, as Elizabeth exited, Miss Bingley accompanying her.

He bowed. "Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bingley," he said. "I hope you find Miss Bennet much improved."

"Thank you." Elizabeth gave him a distracted half-smile, her mind clearly occupied with her sister's welfare.

Miss Bingley curtsied in return and fluttered her eyelashes, her lips curved up in what she probably thought an enticing smile. Darcy had little doubt that she would return as quickly as possible now that she knew where her quarry could be found. He waited until they were out of sight, unwilling to lose even a glimpse of Elizabeth, and entered the breakfast-parlour.

"Darcy! Come to join us mere mortals?" Bingley asked.

Darcy hastened to the sideboard, pouring himself tea and procuring his food. If he ate quickly enough, he could avoid Miss Bingley altogether. One would have thought the months of his indifference would have cooled her ardour. However, given the look she gave him this morning, she seemed uncaring of the distance he had worked so hard to introduce between them.

"Mortals, Bingley?"

"Those of us who do not rise with the dawn," Bingley said. He sent Darcy a sly sideways look. "Unlike you and Apollo, we are mere mortals."

"You mean those of you who keep town hours," Darcy riposted. He nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst who both nursed cups of tea, seemingly unaware of anything occurring around them.

Bingley waved a hand. "It amounts to the same thing."

Darcy merely smiled at his friend and turned his attention to his plate. He was just consuming the last of his breakfast when Miss Bingley swept into the room and seated herself.

"How was Miss Bennet?" Bingley asked anxiously.

Miss Bingley closed her eyes for a brief moment as though praying for patience. "The same as she was an hour ago. The poor girl is miserable: she has a headache and remains feverish."

"Did Miss Elizabeth—" Bingley began.

"She is settled with Miss Bennet. I am certain she will not hesitate to take advantage of your generosity should Miss Bennet require a physician," Miss Bingley said with an edge to her voice. She turned her attention to Darcy, her hazel eyes fixing on him as though he were a fox to be hunted.

Before she could plan the day for him, probably suggesting activities that would keep him at her side, Darcy spoke up. "Bingley, may I speak with you in the study? I believe you wanted to go over those account books."

Bingley gave him a puzzled look but acquiesced.

Miss Bingley made a moue of disappointment. "Are you quite sure you don't want to take a turn in the garden while the weather is decent?"

Darcy tried to smile politely. "Not this morning." With that, he left, drawing Bingley with him. He did not speak again until they were both ensconced in the study with the door closed and a drink in hand.

"Port this early in the morning?" Bingley asked.

Darcy sank into a chair, noting how lacking in comfort it was, probably because few people used the study. "Bingley—" Where should he even begin? With Bingley's excitement over Elizabeth? With Elizabeth's ghost? With their return to Netherfield? No, with his friend's well-being. He fiddled with his drink. "Are you all right?"

"Never better, why?"

Darcy stared at him. "Perhaps because Jane Bennet is under your roof?"

Binley grinned at him. "I will never complain that my angel is in my house—a fortunate occurrence that. Although I hope she has a speedy recovery. Do you think I ought to send to London for a doctor?"

Darcy shook his head. "Your angel?"

"Of course. You cannot deny she is the most beautiful creature you ever saw."

"Bingley, she is lovely, but—"

"Or that she is as good as an angel."

"Perhaps, but—"

"Then I am right in saying she is an angel," Bingley finished triumphantly. "Beauty and goodness are rarely found together."

"But what of her—circumstances?" Darcy asked.

Bingley frowned. "I know Caroline has many objections to Miss Bennet. You agree with her?"

Darcy stared at him again. Objections? What was Bingley talking about? Had the whole world gone mad? Only the night before Bingley had been inconsolable and vowed never to speak Miss Bennet's name again. No, that had been six weeks prior. What had happened in those six weeks to so drastically change the situation? He cleared his throat, then hesitated. Bingley, who had more knowledge of the situation than most, was calling Jane Bennet "Miss" just as Penn had.

"Bingley, you must speak plainly. I am afraid that the past weeks are—somewhat indistinct for me. Why are we at Netherfield?"

Bingley jumped up. "Good god, Darcy! Indistinct? Do you need a doctor?"

Darcy lowered his gaze to the wine swirling in his glass. "Perhaps. I would prefer to keep this between the two of us for now, however." He attempted a smile. "If you could simply elucidate a few key points, it may bring things into focus for me."

Bingley returned to his chair, his gaze wary. "Of course, Darcy. We are at Netherfield to examine it. You suggested I lease a smaller property so that I may learn the ins and outs in order to decide if I prefer a different sort of property."

Darcy waved a hand. "I recall that. However, I also recall you telling me not six weeks ago that Netherfield wouldn't suit. You intended to relinquish the lease—due in large part to events with the Bennets."

Bingley shook his head, frowning. "You must be mistaken, Darcy. I have made no such determination. Indeed, I find Netherfield and its surrounding society thoroughly congenial."

Darcy frowned.

"I believe you said I ought to keep the property lease for a year before making my decision. It has only been five weeks."

"Five weeks?" Darcy repeated. He slumped in his chair, fingers coming up to massage his temples. It could not have been five weeks. He possessed intimate knowledge of the following months. Perhaps Bingley was playing a practical joke? But that was more his cousin Fitzwilliam's style—not Bingley's. It was an easy matter to discern the truth of. He simply had to ask someone who was not in on the joke what the date was. Or to find a current newspaper.

"Are you sure you're all right, Darcy?" Bingley asked, shifting to the edge of his chair as though poised to jump up and call for a doctor.

"Merely confused. Disoriented. We arrived at Netherfield five weeks ago. As I recall, you dragged me to an assembly and since then we have dined several times with various families in the area."

Bingley nodded. "We had dinner with the officers in Meryton last night."

Wickham. Darcy clenched his jaw. "And the Bennets?"

Bingley gave him a wide-eyed look of confusion as though Darcy were speaking Latin—a subject Bingley had struggled mightily with in school. "What about the Bennets?"

"Tell me about them."

"They live at Longbourn and have five unmarried daughters of which Miss Jane Bennet is the eldest. Miss Elizabeth was here this morning—she is the second eldest after Miss Bennet. Caroline said Miss Bennet rode here on horseback in the rain and took ill last night." He frowned again. "Are you sure I shouldn't send to London for a doctor?" He gave Darcy a concerned look. "For you or Miss Bennet?"

"Yes. Miss Bennet has a cold. She will be fine shortly without any assistance but the apothecary's, I would imagine. I shall be fine once I get my bearings." Darcy hesitated. He didn't want to sound crazy nor to offer any further encouragement for Bingley to send for a doctor. Yet—how could this be? Was he in a dream? Had he been in a dream Before? Had he dreamed of the Bennets' demise before?

Elizabeth was here. He had touched her, felt her gloved hand on his arm. Others had recognised and interacted with her. But subsequent (or prior?) events had been equally real. He recalled the burn of brandy as he and Bingley had attempted to drown their sorrows last night. So many sensations of the past several months had felt real. Perhaps he was losing his sanity.

He stood and moved to the window, searching the landscape for answers. This was Netherfield. The taste of port lingered on his palate. This felt real. Which meant . . . . What? Perhaps he ought to move forward with his routine until such a time as he could ascertain what had occurred. If Bingley believed this was November of the previous year—what had they done the day Elizabeth arrived? Bingley had insisted they stay close to the house in the event Miss Bennet's condition worsened. They had spent the morning in the study going over books—much as he'd suggested to Miss Bingley.

Darcy turned to face Bingley. "What did you wish to do today, Bingley?"

"You mentioned going over the books. I know we had intended to ride through the north fields again, but perhaps today would be better spent—"

Darcy's lips twitched. "Indoors? Where you are available should you need to send to London for a doctor?"

Bingley gave him a relieved smile. "Exactly. I know I cannot visit Miss Bennet, and I would not risk her reputation, but if there is aught I can do to see to her comfort—well, isn't that what any good host would do?"

Darcy nodded seriously, then chuckled.

Bingley looked sheepish. "Truly, you do not share Caroline's objections?"

"And what are Miss Bingley's objections?"

"That the Bennets are not a family one ought to tie themselves to—that the family is vulgar and their connections are—lacking."

"Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are not vulgar. The younger girls and even their mother need a firm hand . . . ." Was there anything he could do? Perhaps—the youngest girl! If she had not yet run away with Wickham, if this were not a dream, if his foreknowledge proved accurate . . . . Perhaps Providence had given him a vision so that he might prevent the death of his beloved. Dream or not, she had certainly made him a better man. He forced himself back to the present. Time enough to think of that later. "However, their connections to trade are not as great an evil to you. In fact, Miss Bennet's status as landed gentry would raise your status. Perhaps not as much as Miss Bingley would wish—they cannot ensure your entrée to the first circles."

Bingley waved a hand, laughing. "I do not need entrée to the first circles. Especially with an angel at my side." He sobered. "So you do not agree with Caroline?"

"I share her caution," Darcy began, Elizabeth's emphatic denunciation ringing in his heart as he imagined her rage if she ever learned he had helped Bingley reject her beloved sister a second time. "I believe Miss Bennet would not be allowed—it would not be easy for her to reject you due to your status and wealth and her own precarious situation with Longbourn entailed."

Bingley set his cup on the table next to him.

"However, if you win her love, you should make your own determination of what is best."

"You will support me?"

Darcy shook his head internally. How had he created such an inequitable friendship with Bingley? The man had never tired of his condescension—even requested his assistance. It was as Bingley had said the night before or whenever it had been: he valued Darcy's greater experience but hadn't given him the right to make his decisions. Something he vowed to uphold.

"Do you need my support?"

"No, but I would appreciate it."

"Then you have it—in this or in any other area. I shall support your decisions. They are, after all, yours to make."

Bingley coloured and picked up his glass once more. "Thank you, Darcy," he said shyly.

"It is no more than you are due, my friend," Darcy murmured. He set his glass down. "Shall we examine the books and see where Netherfield may become more profitable?"

With a wry smile, Bingley stood.


	4. Chapter 4

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Frerichs

* * *

Darcy held his breath as he entered the dining room, his hands clenched behind him to still their trembling. He had delayed; rather than arriving early, he was promptly on time for dinner this evening. He couldn't bear to wait for Elizabeth's absence. If she had left, if her phantom had vanished, he couldn't sit and make small talk with the Bingleys and Hursts. His anguish would be visible for all the world to see. And so, if she had disappeared, he had resolved to make his excuses and flee to his room where none would witness the grief that even now weighed in his chest.

Elizabeth's voice sounded in the midst of Bingley's inquiries about Miss Bennet's health.

Darcy's breath whooshed out as his lungs recalled how to breathe.

Once again, Bingley practically glowed as he asked after Miss Bennet and wilted immediately as Elizabeth informed him that her health had not improved.

Bingley led Elizabeth in to dinner as the host, and Darcy reluctantly partnered Miss Bingley. Per usual, she had seated him near herself. Elizabeth sat at the end of the table, next to Mr. Hurst. Darcy was certain their conversation would be lackluster. Mr. Hurst cared only for food, drink, and hunting—topics Elizabeth had little interest in. Besides, they had never seemed to get on well Before.

Darcy shook himself. That "Before" hadn't happened, or this wasn't happening—he had been unable to determine which. Everything seemed to match his recollections of the past: Miss Bennet was ill with a cold and ran a fever, Elizabeth had been invited to stay—probably unwillingly given how much Miss Bingley disliked her—and Bingley continued to wrestle with learning a landowner's duties.

After dinner, Elizabeth left promptly. Darcy watched her go. His pulse pounded in time with his desire to follow her, to make sure she was all right, to ensure her needs were met. He owed her a great debt, and his love would not be silenced. He might not be able to marry her, but he could certainly do his best to repay her kindness.

His fingers curled around the edge of his seat, lest his heart send him careening out the door after her. If this was real, he did not wish to alarm her, nor to cast aspersions on her reputation.

Barely was she out of the door when Miss Bingley began abusing his beloved, proclaiming her manners to be a wretched mixture of pride and impertinence. Darcy suppressed a sly smile—Miss Bingley's complaints appeared to revolve around Elizabeth's lack of fawning. The woman wished for Elizabeth to behave as she herself did when encountering someone of a higher social status. Yet, for all her posturing, Miss Bingley was not of a higher social status, nor would Elizabeth fawn all over anyone. Her lack of pretense left her incapable of such behaviour, and it was part of what set her apart and made Darcy love her.

As Miss Bingley continued on, however, Darcy grew less tolerant. According to her, Elizabeth had no conversation, no style, no taste, and no beauty.

Ever her faithful chorus, Mrs. Hurst chimed in. "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."

Miss Bingley glanced at Darcy as though ensuring his attention before she spoke. "She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!"

Darcy's jaw clenched. How dare she! Elizabeth had come, miraculously, returned from the dead, to succour her sick sister—something that ought to be lauded. A testament to her kindness and true goodness—a far more attractive and hardy thing than Miss Bennet's sweetness and leagues beyond Miss Bingley's flattery and cattiness.

Mrs. Hurst nodded vigorously. "Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it, not doing its office."

"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley. "But this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."

Miss Bingley turned to Darcy. "You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure. And I am inclined to think you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."

Darcy suppressed a start, imagining Georgiana walking alone through the woods where Wickham resided. Even Elizabeth had taken a risk. He doubted she would take kindly to curtailing her walks, but perhaps, if he could convince her of the danger—if circumstances didn't vanish with the morning's light . . . .

"Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley prompted, an edge of annoyance colouring her tone.

"Of course not," Darcy said. He shuddered to think of what Wickham would do if he realised how precious Elizabeth was to him. Was that why the scoundrel had absconded with Elizabeth's youngest sister? Or had that been a misstep on Wickham's part? Or perhaps mere carelessness? After all, Mr. Bennet had been unable to find them. Why hadn't he asked Bingley for more details last night?

Miss Lydia was wild and thoughtless. Perhaps she had considered the whole thing a lark? Or perhaps Wickham had spoken words of love to her much as he'd done to Georgiana?

"—a most country-town indifference to decorum." Miss Bingley finished, waiting with her gaze fixed on Darcy as though she expected hearty agreement.

Darcy dragged himself back to the present. These were questions he ought to ponder alone, not in company—especially not in Miss Caroline Bingley's company when any misstep might leave him leg-shackled to the scheming woman.

"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley into the quiet.

"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingley, in a half-whisper, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."

Darcy frowned. They had had this very conversation before. He recalled it quite clearly. Miss Bingley had teased him about Elizabeth's eyes. And he had responded. "Not at all," he replied along with his memory self. Straightening, he finished: "They were brightened by the exercise."


	5. Story is up!

"A Vision of the Path Before Him" (AKA "To Wish Upon a Star") is now available on Amazon (both as a paperback and on kindle)! It also includes "Miss Bingley's Mistakes." Whether you decide to purchase it or not, if you enjoyed this story, would you please go leave a review? It would help me out a lot, and I don't think you have to purchase the book to review. Unfortunately, I cannot have it up on both Amazon and here at this time, but I'll let you guys know if that changes.

Regardless, I have so appreciated having you guys along for the ride :) Thanks for all the encouragement and critique!

Elizabeth


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